Coming Back With Front.

Good grief, this thing is still here? Doesn't Blogger ever put it's rubbish out for the binmen?

The Bull's Hit.

After planning to spend the weekend by the sea in Ramsgate, and then feeling like I'd spent the weekend in it, it would be so easy to blame the council. But of course, they don't control the weather (or much else, unless it suits them)!
They did, however, decide to move Ramsgate's big event from it's slot during the first weekend of July, when, as I recall, the weather was splendid this year, to a fortnight before the August bank holiday!?!?
So I guess I'll just have to content myself with grumbling about that!

But not being the sort to dwell upon past mistakes, preferring to look forward to future successes, a few friends and I popped over to Margate last night to attempt to glean a little insight into their forthcoming jamboree, this weekend.
The newly opened Lifeboat pub seemed to offer a good view (and some decent beer) of the old market square, where arrangements were being made to entertain the heaving masses who will attend.
Though I'm not so sure about the pub on the opposite corner, The Bull's Head, which has the reputation, and certainly the look, of being a good place to get thumped in the head, lied through the teeth to, or both. Hence it's nick-name as the title to this post.

Still, you can't keep an old sow down, so I'll be poking my head in there at the weekend if the Magic Carpet Theatre Company isn't up to much!

Monster Jizz Up Date.

I'm so glad that my unwitting informants didn't put two and two together, after my little slip of the tongue about Supertramp guesting at this weekend's festival and discover my true identity, thus closing their lips whenever I'm in earshot.

In all probability they don't read my blog.
Time and time again I've said that that will be peoples' downfall and I guess that I'm right, because there they were again last night, in Churchill's, gobbing off about features that haven't yet been advertised.
Mind you, looking at the itinerary, and bearing in mind that TDC is handling all of the organising and advertising, that would cover pretty much most of what's going on!

Anyhow, for those who are intending to pop along and pretend not to be bored shitless by the sheer pretentiousness of jazz, the word on the street is that Brenda Blethyn is going to open the event with her own rendition of We'll Meet Again.
Dame Vera was asked if she wouldn't mind doing it but, apparently, refused on the grounds that she's been singing that for the last hundred years and it still hasn't happened yet, so she'd just as soon not bother.

Hey, you read it here first!

The Strugle Of Life.

I saw a charming picture in one of our local not-quite-so-fast food outlets, last Saturday night.
I think it may have been a photograph in an early stage of it's life, but it had been tinkered with right the way through tailor, soldier, sailor, rich man and halfway through poor man, so it was quite hard to tell for sure.
Any road up, it was a picture of a statue of oxen and cart, stuck in mud, with a huge muscular guy hunched over one of the cart's wheels, trying to make it turn.
His broad shoulders and thick arms tugging (or should I say 'tuging'?) with all of their might, his lean but powerful waist and pelvis pushing and straining against the rim, and a cute, rounded though tight bum as your first point of reference for depth of field, made me a little moist I can tell you!
However, from the title printed across the top of it, the title of this post, I feel that the following picture would've been more appropriately deserving of such an accolade!




Lovely food, as always!
Though you do have to penetrate deeper than the writing on the lids, to work out which dish is which.

More Of That Jazz.

Chatting to a couple of the local jazz elite in Churchill's last night, and being put straight on the fact that the up and coming Monster Bass Festival is NOT about a great big fish, one of them, who was a little squiffy (not to mention squinty), let slip that a somewhat famous band would be making a guest appearance on Saturday 14th.
Not being the type to go blabbing my mouth off and having been asked to keep it under my hat, I really should keep quiet about who it will be.

I'd hate to spoil the surprise!

And besides, quite apart from the fact that I don't wear hats, I've never seen Supertramp live before and I am a bit of a fan.

I do hope that I didn't misunderstand that, and they're not going to be dragging the evening crowd of down-and-outs along from the soup kitchen in Belmont Road!

Hope the weather holds up!

Load Of Cock In Little V.

Perhaps I'm just getting a bit long in the tooth for all this modern pop music stuff, but after attending the Mini V festival at the Old Monkey Torture Sanctuary last night, I left less than impressed. Though it did seem appropriate that most of the bands sounded like very poorly treated simians.

I would be interested to hear from anyone who went along and thoroughly enjoyed it, as it's put me right in the mood to rip the piss out of the next idiot to post a comment here!

Hols. And Factions.

Foreword.
Readers from Margate, don't panic!
If you read the title again, using your finger this time, you'll realise that this isn't a post about mathematics at all. It's about drunkenness and violence, so you're safe to read on.

Well that's it for another year then!
My anal holiday spent lazing on a Mediterranean beach during the day and howling down a Mediterranean toilet during the wee small hours, with all the usual malarky between.

Though I may have to rethink the concept of visiting Lloret-De-Mar during their 'donkey derby' week, as they don't appear to have quite the same level of respect for the poor creatures as us Brits!
But it was educational too, as I hadn't previously realised that donkeys could run backwards or jump so high into the air.
I think I may have found that almost as bemusing as the donkeys did!

But even more disturbing was a level of gang warfare that made King Street seem like an attractive place to return to!
Not a day went by without witnessing either some kind of clash of the clans, a tourist being mugged or, oddly, someone having their hair set on fire.

Hailing from where I do, I couldn't honestly say that I felt I was 'getting away from it all'!

I may go to Bournemouth next year.